Open Water

I’ve never been in a situation like this. I can look out for miles in either direction, and never see any land. I can feel my feet on something hard below me, but it’s not solid ground. It’s just a piece of whatever this massive thing is made out of. How does it float? How can something so large take me away from civilization so fast? I don’t even think it’s that I feel lost. I think it’s that I miss walking on something I can trust not to wobble.

How different everyone reacts… I think it tells a lot about a person. Some relax and take advantage of this new and exciting world. A world where work doesn’t exist, just the opportunity to be one with the open sea. These are the people that take life as it comes at them without a look in the other direction. And then there’s the others. The one who have to rely on Dramamine to make it through the day. The ones who only see this as a mode of transportation, not an escape. These people do look in the other direction, and what they’re hoping to see is land. I think I’m somewhere in the middle. I don’t really like to define myself with extremities, I’m not close minded enough for that.

Such different reactions and such different people. There must be one common thing that unites us all, and it just might be a few decks below my feet.

The most fascinating thing about it is just to watch. The sea has the same effect as fire on people; it’s so simple, but in effect, it’s mesmerizing. These cold, white handlebars, these hardwood floors, these lifeboats attached to the sides. They’re really only accessories to what people really came to see. And luckily, I can see it for miles.